


I've Got Your Back

by hpdm4ever, MessiFangirl (hpdm4ever)



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Argentina National Team, Brazil National Team, FIFA World Cup 2018, Friendship, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Implied Relationships, Neymessi, One Shot, Phone Calls & Telephones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-07
Updated: 2017-10-07
Packaged: 2019-01-10 08:42:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12295530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hpdm4ever/pseuds/hpdm4ever, https://archiveofourown.org/users/hpdm4ever/pseuds/MessiFangirl
Summary: Leo’s not been answering most of his calls.He’s been watching the tape. Over and over, he’s been watching the game against Peru, trying to see what he could have done differently. He should have passed there, should have run there, should have dribbled there. He should have taken the shot there, should not have taken the extra step. Should have dodged that tackle, should have seen that challenge. He watches it over and over, for so long that his eyes begin to ache and his body begins to hurt from sitting in the chair.





	I've Got Your Back

**Author's Note:**

> Got a drabble request on tumblr and I felt inspired: Argetina can only qualify for the World Cup if they win their next game and Brazil win against Chile. Essentially, Neymar is Messi's last hope #neymessi. Drabble on this por favor??

Leo’s not been answering most of his calls.

He’s been watching the tape. Over and over, he’s been watching the game against Peru, trying to see what he could have done differently. He should have passed there, should have run there, should have dribbled there. He should have taken the shot there, should not have taken the extra step. Should have dodged that tackle, should have seen that challenge. He watches it over and over, for so long that his eyes begin to ache and his body begins to hurt from sitting in the chair.

Masche’s been in and out of his room, bringing him mate, bringing him water.

Yelling at him to stop.

Hugging him when he won’t.

Leo can’t stop, though. He can’t stop watching because he needs to be better, needs to figure out how to take them to Russia. It’s nearly too late now, and if they don’t make it, he’ll never forgive himself. So he watches the Peru game. And then, when he thinks there’s nothing more he can learn from it, he watches their last game against Ecuador. It’ll be a different game on Tuesday—he knows that.

Ecuador can’t qualify anymore. But that can mean a couple of things.

Ecuador might use a lot of youth players, let them get some experience, let them learn what it’s like to play in a qualifier. They might experiment with lineups or perhaps let a few of the older players give it one last go. They don’t have anything to lose, and so they are able to try a lot of different things without having to worry about the consequences. But not having anything to lose also makes them dangerous. They’ll be playing for pride, for honor, for a win that very possible to get.

Ecuador can hurt Argentina.

So when his phone chirps, Leo glances at it and then forgets about it. His mother, Geri, Kun—admittedly he hesitates when it’s Kun—he forces himself to ignore them all and goes back to the tape. Nothing is as important as studying for the game.

And then Neymar calls.

Leo looks at the phone. He stares at it, looking at Neymar’s picture as the ringtone continues. He’s not sure why Neymar would call him, not after everything, not after all this time. They haven’t spoken since Davi’s birthday party back in Barcelona when they’d hugged and posed for a picture as a message to the club. But it’s definitely Neymar smiling up at him, despite Leo’s fatigue he can see that clearly.

Leo stares so long at his ringing phone that it finally stops ringing.

He turns back to the game, having paused it unconsciously. His finger hovers over the play button, ready to start again.

But then the phone rings again.

It’s Neymar, again.

Leo stares at it, again.

He answers it.

“Ney?” Leo greets, not trying to sound cold but aware of the fact that he does. “What’s up?” The remote is heavy on his thigh, and he wraps his hand around it as if he’s reassuring it he’ll come back to it.

“Hey, Leo,” Neymar says gently. He probably knows what Leo’s doing, or can guess at least. They were teammates long enough. And everybody in the world knows about Leo’s struggles with Argentina. Of course, it’s not like Brazil’s having any problems—not anymore. They’re doing just fine at the top of the table, having already qualified and having done it extremely well. “I just,” Neymar says quietly, “I just wanted to call and talk a little.”

Leo blinks at the television. “Been awhile,” he says pointedly.

It’s both their faults. Friendship’s a two-way street, and Leo’s certainly not reached out to Neymar in awhile. Neymar’s departure had stung more than he’d liked, and despite the fragile peace they’d made at Davi’s party, Leo was still hanging on to some resentment.

“I know,” Neymar says. “I know.”

There’s just the sound of him breathing then, and Leo’s impatient.

“What do you want then?” Leo asks. “I’m busy.” He’s tired, more like. Tired of watching the tapes, tired of trying to figure out what to do. He just wants to rest—wants to close his eyes and open them when Argentina’s qualified for Russia. But even then, he won’t be able to rest.

“I’m sorry,” Neymar blurts out. “Shit, Leo. I’m sorry.”

“About what?” Leo answers wearily. Truthfully, Neymar could be apologizing for a number of things, and Leo doesn’t have the heart to try to think about all of them.

Neymar makes a disgruntled sound. “I don’t know,” he says, frustrated. “Anything. Everything.”

Leo just nods. “Well, that was clear. Thanks.” He looks back to the television. “If that’s all—,” he says, starting to regret having answered Neymar’s call.

“It’s not all,” Neymar interrupts. “It’s not! Be quiet, I’m trying to think.”

Leo’s too tired to really argue, so he sighs, slouching down in the chair and resting his head on the cushion. “Good luck, with that,” he murmurs, getting a laugh out of Neymar without meaning to. “We’ll be here for ages, then.”

“Hush,” Neymar says. “Don’t start. I thought I knew what I wanted to say and then you answered, and I forgot everything.” He takes a deep breath, clucking his tongue. “I should have called you before.”

Leo’s eyes flutter closed. “Before what?”

Neymar laughs again. “You aren’t making this easy,” he says, more to himself than to Leo. “But then again, you never did.” He clears his throat. “I wanted to call you before the game to wish you luck.”

Leo’s fatigue comes back full force. “Wouldn’t have helped,” he says shortly.

“I know,” Neymar says. “But, so I’m calling because… I’m sure you’ve done the math. I know I’ve done the math, and I didn’t even have to do the math because you know we’re already secure. But, I’ve done the math and I know we play Chile next.”

Leo’s throat tightens. “I know.” He knows who everybody plays.

Knows what happens if Chile wins.

Knows what happens if Chile loses.

Knows what happens if Chile ties.

“Yes, well,” Neymar continues, “I just wanted to tell you that… I’m going to try my hardest against Chile. I’m going to try to score, like, at least a hat-trick. And… if I can’t—I’ll make somebody else score, okay? Whatever it takes.” He’s quiet for a moment, as if he’s waiting for Leo to reply, but when nothing comes, he sighs. “I’ll make sure we beat Chile, Leo. I want to beat Chile for you. I want you and Argentina to make it to the world cup. You deserve it—you deserve everything, and I’m going to try my hardest to help you.”

Leo opens his eyes.

“I mean it,” Neymar says softly. “I know… I know things aren’t the best between us. And maybe, maybe it would be better for Brazil if Argentina didn’t make it. But, it wouldn’t be better for me, because it wouldn’t be better for you.”

“Ney,” Leo says, rubbing his face.

“I’m sorry about everything,” Neymar says. “Fuck, Leo, I should have said it before. I should have called before. I shouldn’t have just let things lie. I’m sorry, for so many things, but after I saw, I just had to call and talk to you. I don’t care how long it’s been. Just know that I’ve got your back, okay?”

And Leo’s so tired. But he feels tears spring to his eyes. “Thank you, Ney.” He opens his mouth to say something else, something more, something that he’s been meaning to say for a long time.

But a yawn comes out instead.

“Shit, Leo,” Neymar says. “It’s late, I know that. You should sleep, eh?”

And Leo looks back at the television, knowing he shouldn’t. “Well…”

Neymar clucks his tongue. “I bet you’re doing something silly, aren’t you?” He doesn’t wait for a response. “Go on, get in bed. Sleep a few hours, okay? Everything will look better in the morning.”

And Leo can see his bed, just past the television, blankets turned down, pillows looking plump and welcoming. Masche had tried to get him there before, had gotten everything ready for him. “Maybe, just for a little bit,” he murmurs, standing up and letting the remote fall to the ground. He steps over it on his way to the bed, bare feet sinking into the carpet.

“Good,” Neymar says, softening. “And Leo?”

“Hmm?” Leo asks, pulling the covers up over him. He turns on his side and faces the wall, letting his eyes fall shut as he presses the phone closer to his ear.

“It was good to hear your voice,” Neymar says gently.

Leo smiles, all of a sudden feeling a whole lot better. “Yours too, Ney. Yours too.”

He means to say goodbye, but he falls asleep before he can. He dreams he hears Neymar laughing again.


End file.
